


Sometime Around Midnight

by orphan_account



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: :(, Angst, Break Up, Fluff, M/M, Sad, break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long while since he's seen Peter, and an even longer while since he's been some sort of happy.</p>
<p>And Sometime Around Midnight, Deadpool decided to change that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Based off of The Airborne Toxic Event - Sometime Around Midnight</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometime Around Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> I highly recomend you listen to this song because it's just perfect, PERFECT
> 
> The Airborne Toxic Event - Sometime around midnight
> 
>  
> 
> I really can't get enough of this fandom, of this ship. I'm ridiculously obsessed with it and right now I have about five documents up in word with fanfiction being written and- i really i just can't right now.

Deadpool lay in his uncomfortable spring bed in his uncomfortable hot, trashy apartment in this uncomfortable scary neighborhood deep in the Bronx. His apartment was way too hot in the summer, and way too cold in the winter, but despite the heat that reverberated around the room, and although the open windows added to the stuffiness, he still lay buried under comforters with the windows wide open.

It's usually sometime around midnight whenever the thoughts come along.

Not the voices, not the boxes, just him and his thoughts. And during these specific thoughts the voices tend to keep quiet and just observe.

Deadpool curled even tighter into the comforters, despite the sweat and the condensation that made the entire bed moist, and the heat that nearly stung, he hugged the blankets tighter. The unbearably strong smell of cologne lingered in the room, which wafted away with the windows open in which Deadpool would react with spraying once more.

The detergent smell that clung to the comforters, along with his sweat, caused his eyes to swell and the scent from the cologne made his throat and chest clench. Because it smelled like HIM. He's never cried about it, he usually doesn't cry about things like heartache (which he rarely gets anyhow), but damn has he come so close to it.

It's the kind of heartache that makes you want to puke, that makes you want to die or get tortured or feel any other pain than the kind thats ripping your limbs part by part. Its slowly tearing your brains to shreds making you want to just stab yourself so you can get it over with, but, Deadpool's healing factor cures the stab wounds. Not the heartache.

He swallowed the huge lump in his throat and sat up.

It's been nearly six months, and throughout all his mourning he doesn't even remember the reason for their breakup. He doesn't even remember who broke up with who, but all he knows is that it ended with Peter actually LUNGING at him with fists and pent up rage and sadness, his actions meaning to HURT.

And Wade striked back on that night and they hit and punched and kicked and bit and snarled and yelled and cried at eachother. Lots of crying. Okay, maybe he had lied about not crying over them. But, whatever they did to each other it must have sucked. Peter never wanted to hurt anybody, and Wade would never hurt Peter.

Granted, he DOES remember the both of them coming out as equally hurt as the other. Despite Deadpool's healing factor it was pretty obvious, other than the bruises, but the broken bones were. And although Peter had some sort of healing ability (incomparable to Deadpool's), it was still pretty bad. And after that, there was a lot of crying and comforting, and then after that when Peter had thought Wade was asleep, he packed his things and left on a skateboard.

He reminds that part clearly, he remembers hearing the shuffling of clothes and the things being cluttered into a few backpacks before leaving. He remembers looking out the window and seeing a skinny little white kid skateboard away from the majority of the shitty apartment buildings. He remembered locking eyes with him before he skated the corner down the street that was on his way towards, well, his home.

Of course he had to leave a few things, and Wade honestly expected him to come back and get them. And when Peter never did, he'd mourn. 

And then there was Spiderman, whom he'd run into while he was on his missions or causing his usual havoc or just simply walking to get a bite. And they'd lock eyes.

And Spiderman would look away, his mask not giving away any sort of emotion or remorse. Deadpool's was, well, the opposite. In fact, for the past six months, Deadpool would be approached by Daredevil or one of the Avengers to be asked to calm down. Not Spiderman.

And, yes, he's seen Spiderman enough around town or on the news or in the paper. But he hasn't seen PETER in six months. He hasn't heard his voice, he hasn't seen his brown gorgeous eyes. Or cocky grin or disapproving glare.

And sitting up, his face mixed with sweat and tears and remorse, he felt dead.

Several times has he put a gun muzzle in his mouth, throat, temple, underneath his chin, towards his heart and pulled the trigger. Many of times has he ran a knife into his thigh or pushed a katana through his stomach or tried to piss off the wrong people so he'd just be DEAD. But it's not working, it never worked. And right now, the only solution he could think of was none at all.

It was tearing him apart.

He just had to see him, he just had to see him, he just had to see him.

If he doesn't, God only knows what'll happen to the people resident of New York and the entire World. (If Deadpool felt like he should kill himself, then others will be killed by himself.)

So, sometime around Midnight, Deadpool got up and put on his Deadpool hoodie, jeans, shoes, hat, and a gun (just in case) and headed out.

\---

And it was underneath the bar lights of Peter's favorite bar, in which Wade saw him again.

Even with his healing factor, his eyes swam after he downed his fifth beer. He didn't feel as intoxicated as people usually do, but everything was fuzzy but focused at the same time and he could feel his vision going a blur but once he saw him, Peter, everything blurred further but Peter was so focused. Suddenly becoming HD. 

The bar was a nicer one, with someone playing the piano slowly and carelessly, the sweet music seemingly going so well to Peter's amused smile and his ungroomed hair. Wade's heart caught in his throat, his fingers clenching madly at his pants and he could feel the frown tug at his face. He could FEEL the desperation. His stomach clenched horribly and the overwhelming want to throw up waved over him but, Wade was motionless. He couldn't move.

And everything seemed to fall, everything dropped and melted away, when Peter turned with his gorgeous smile to lock beautiful brown eyes with Wade.

The bar lights the lit up his face so perfectly caught the gorgeous lights in his eyes go dull when they locked eyes. His face instantly fell and he, too, was frozen. And despite the people that passed between them, and laughed between them, and enjoyed life between them, they still kept eye contact with equal frowns and glossy eyes, and two different thoughts.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and the memories that flowed back along with Peter's face. He saw him naked, sleeping in his arms. Laughing. Smiling.

And it seemed like forever, them sitting there staring at each other from what seemed like a hundred seats down (when only it was about fifteen). The only thing that ripped Wade's eyes from Peter's was the girl with the snow blonde hair tugging at his sleeve. The girl with the way too much but completely necessary red lipstick and the incredibly white teeth and her gorgeous, glimmering pale skin.

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows were knitted into a confused look, as she tugged at Peter's sleeve and stared at his dropped face. She mouthed something to him, and that was when Peter noticed the gaze was broken and looked down at her to give her an equally confused face.

"It looks you've just seen a ghost-"

She slowly followed his once gaze but was quickly interrupted by Peter pulling her arm and quickly dragging her out of the place. As she was being dragged through the crowd, she looked behind her shoulder. And between the crowd, a man sat with scars and bumps all over his skin. The sight, to Gwen, would have been terrifying since he was looking right at her. But his mouth was knit into a frown and his eyes showed the deepest of sorrows showing, even from feet away, she could tell. She's seen sorrow before, felt sorrow before, and this was it. Complete, utter sorrow.

And once she was pulled out into the muggy streets of New York, she tugged her arm away from Peter and glared.

"Was that the person you told me about during our small breakup?"

Peter turned, abruptly, to look at her with fake shocked eyes. But his eyes showed trauma and his face was still pale. "Wh-"

"The man with the scars?"

Peter scoffed, turning away and scratching at the back of his neck. He quickly left the bar front and made way towards the car garage, not wanting to be outside when Wade decides to leave. "Gwen, you know I'm not like that."

"Peter, we both know well how confused you get. Anyway, when you talked about them you didn't say a specific gender."

"Did I need to?"

"You didn't have to. Peter! Peter-" She huffed and growled, jogging forward so she could step in front of him- blocking his path he was quickly trying to take. He scoffed and tried to side step her, which she quickly blocked his path off once again. "Peter." She gave him THAT look. That fucking look, the look when she KNEW he was totally lying and that he needed to tell the truth. That LOOK that made Peter know that he had lost.

He sighed, looked away. He ran his fingers through his already messy hair, sighed heavily, and nodded.

She smiled in triumph, which was quickly replaced with a scowl. "Peter, you need to talk to him."

His defeated look abruptly changed to defensive, as he jumped back and glared at her with surprise. "What! No! I told you how crazy he was, I told you! If I talked to him he might get the wrong idea-"

"Peter, you know what sadness looks like. I know what sadness looks like. I recognize it when I see it, and... Peter, you said so yourself, you were the only person there for him. Who does he have now?"

\---

A few downed beers and a skipped tab later, it was sometime around midnight when he began wondering the streets in a drunken haze. His hat was crumpled in his hand and his hoodie was down. And he could feel the eyes of onlookers bearing down on him, cutting holes deep into his skin, but he didn't exactly care. Right now, everything seemed to be melting around him. Everything dripped and sagged. The only thing he focused on was the sidewalk towards the way home.

He slowed to a stop as a different pair of shoes stood in front of him, pairs of shoes that wouldn't budge.

Wade adverted his eyes to the pair of shoes' owner. His drunken eyes didn't change at Peter's sympathetic scowl.

"Wade. Come on."

Peter outreached his hand, and although Wade didn't hesitate he didn't take it instantly either. But when he touched fingers, he sighed as Peter began dragging him home.


End file.
